


Mystery Science Theater Ferelden

by dragonmactir



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 20:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11215881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonmactir/pseuds/dragonmactir
Summary: Anora seeks advice from the "other side," but what she finds is far from what she expects.





	Mystery Science Theater Ferelden

“I thank you, Lady Morrigan, for coming to my aid.”

 

“A most gracious welcome, Your Highness,” the witch replied, with a half-bow.  “I confess myself surprised by your summons.  Of all the high-placed people who might have sought me out for my talents, I never thought one of them would be _you.”_

 

Queen Anora of Ferelden scowled and shook her head slightly.  “Ordinarily I would not have done, for I do not generally hold with supernatural claptrap such as ghosts and speaking with the dead.  However… recent events have lead me to believe that there may be good reason for me to… reach out, if possible.  And I have it on good authority that if anyone _can_ do this, it is you.”

 

“You wish to reach beyond the Veil, to someone no longer among the living?” Morrigan said, eyebrow raised.  “To whom do you wish to speak?  Or do I even need to ask?”

 

Anora paced across the dais.  “I daresay you do not.  I wish to speak to my father.”

 

“You betrayed him at the Landsmeet.  Are you so certain he wishes to speak to you?”

 

“He of all people would understand my reasons.  And he remains my father.”

 

“Very well.  I shall perform the ritual.”

 

Morrigan set up a bookstand on which she placed a great, ancient tome, which fell open naturally to a certain page.  She barely glanced at it as she began to chant the words to the ancient ritual, waving her arms over her head as purple light gathered crackling around her.  Anora held her breath, wondering what, if anything, was going to happen.  Finally, from the great purple cloud that gathered in the middle of the Little Audience Chamber, a voice, rusty and apparently cranky at being disturbed, spoke.

 

_“Yes, what is it you want?”_

 

“Father!” Anora gasped.

 

_“Anora?  Well, I guess it’s good to hear from you, girl.  You caught me at Commercial Sign.  You haven’t got much time before I have to go back into the theater, so make it quick.”_

 

“Er… what?” Anora said.

 

 _“Never mind,”_ the familiar voice said. _“Just say what you want.”_

 

Anora sighed.  “Advice, Father.  I am at my wit’s end.”

 

_“You must be, if you’re talking to the dead.  Out with it.”_

 

“It’s Alistair, Father.  He’s… an atrocity.  As husband he ignores me, and such is how I prefer it.  As King he abhors me, and I have no power at all to sway him from his course.  He has allowed the Rebel Mages sanctuary within our borders, which is all well and good, but now templar and mage both terrorize our people and about this he cares nothing, because his great ‘advisor,’ _Chancellor Eamon,_ says nothing!  I am at my wits’ end, Father!”

 

A pause.  _“Put poison in his tea.  Or a dagger in his heart, if you want to get more personal.  Since when do you need me to solve simple problems like this for you?  Or_ any _problems for you?  Alistair took my head in a fit of pique yet you married him anyway.  Did you really expect he’d be a warm, loving husband and a great listener?”_

 

Anora dropped her arms to her sides.  “No.  I just… thought he’d be a little more pliant than this.  I’m sorry I bothered you for this, Father.  But it was good to hear your voice again.”

 

_“And yours as well, my dear.  Do take care.”_

 

“Wait, Father, don’t go -- tell me, how is it, where you are?  Have you… seen the Maker?” Anora asked.

 

The voice laughed, a robust and bitter sound.  _“Me?  See the Maker?  You’re kidding yourself, girl.  Not unless this ‘TV’s Son of TV’s Son of TV’s Frank’ fellow -- or, ‘Brandon,’ as the other one insists his name is -- is the Maker in disguise, which I suppose would make this ‘Tallis Forrester’ bitch Andraste.  Neither likelihood seems possible to me in my position, but I suppose the Maker works his wonders in mysterious ways.  I will say, if this is the Void, it’s not what I expected.”_

 

“What’s happening?  Where are you?”

 

_“I’m… on something called a ‘satellite.’  Don’t ask me to explain, it would take too long and I don’t really understand myself.  In any event, I’m trapped here, with a bunch of metal creatures called robots, one of whom is golden with a net on his head and another is red and white with a big round, clear head.  The three of us have to watch crappy movies these two idiots Tallis and Son of Son of Frank send us, trying to make me go mad so they can study the results.  But it’s not working, because the robots are already insane, and they spend all movie making sarcastic jokes about the people and the scenery and what’s going on and whatever else they can think up, which works right along with what little sense of humor I have, so I’ve started doing it, too.  It’s actually kind of… you didn’t hear this from me… fun.”_

“What’s a movie?” Anora asked.

 

_“Like a theater piece, only the actors aren’t really there on stage in front of you.  Look, you remember when you were little and I took you to the theater with Maric, and we all sat in the King’s box and threw popped corn at the audience below and made fun of the thespians and the prop men and the men working the lighting and the audience and everything about the whole piece?  This is like that, only… no one is actually there to be offended and it’s just a way for me to keep my sanity and Maric’s not here to laugh with.  Although the golden robot sort of reminds me of him, sometimes.  Even has his voice, a little, with some atrocious accent.”_

“Explain what a robot is, please?” Anora said.

_“That is something I really cannot do.  They act like they’re alive but they were created by men, so I guess maybe they can’t be, but they certainly seem to be.  It’s all too confusing to me.”_

“You’re having… _fun_ … in the afterlife?” Anora asked.

 

_“A little, maybe, here and there.  Hey, a man’s entitled, after the life I’ve led, isn’t he?  I’ve got to go now, Movie Sign is flashing, and if I don’t make it into the theater before the movie starts up again, the mads hit me with this thing called a cattle prod.  It’s not as fun as it sounds.  Goodbye.”_

“Well, that was interesting,” Morrigan said as she ended the ritual.  “Of all the things I might have expected to hear.”

 

“Yes, that’s not what I might have expected, either.  Well, if it’s punishment, at least it doesn’t sound _terribly_ horrible,” Anora said.

 

“Except for that ‘cattle prod’ thing.  That left my imagination reeling, if Loghain Mac Tir considers it something not to be risked.  A _dead_ Loghain Mac Tir, no less.  Did you find the solution to your problem, Your Highness?”

 

“Not exactly.  I’m certainly not going to kill Alistair -- too many of the people love him too much.  But Father was right.  I’ve never run to anyone to solve my problems for me.  I have to figure this out on my own.  Perhaps… if I simply sat him down and talked to him.  That might have been a big part of what was lacking between myself and Cailan, come to think of it.”

 

“Communication is a great and wonderful thing, Your Highness.  None of us would be anywhere without it,” Morrigan said, and bowed herself out of the chamber.


End file.
